We all need more laughter, and given this is a Celtic/Arthurian blog, I thought this might do it.

I didn’t write this. I don’t know who did. It was sent to me on a listserc back in 1997 and I haven’t been able to find out where it came from. If you know, please tell me and I’ll give credit. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have.

Celtic Woman’s Rules

Please do not talk to my breasts. You will not be meeting them.

If you attempt to do so, you will be meeting my sword.

My sexual preference is no. (Whoever wrote this had obviously never heard of Queen Maeve. I think this should be changed to “yes, please!” At least that would be more historically accurate.)

Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice – say any differently and I will slice your head off.

If you want to control someone, become a Roman.

Breakfast is on the table. YOU cook it.

It is not the size of your sword that counts, it is- no, wait… size does count.

If you disobey ANY of these rules, you should better pray your horse is FAST.

Eventually, I’ll get around to doing a series of posts on women in the Celtic world: their status, rules on marriage/divorce, children, etc. (the laws are fascinating, but very complex), so keep this funny little post in mind. It’s more accurate than you may think!